


whatever tomorrow brings

by msmaj



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Minor Character(s), Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-03 20:43:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12755847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmaj/pseuds/msmaj
Summary: It had been seven hours, eight minutes and eleven seconds since they’d hung up. Her voice hung heavy in his ears even now. The catch in her throat when she pushed the words through her lips, as if she couldn’t believe she had to say them. The tremble of tears he could practically feel spilling down her cheeks, as she hiccupped through.





	whatever tomorrow brings

**Author's Note:**

> Yikes, it's been a long time since I've written anything. But, weheartscorose has been hinting I get back to it and since she provided me with a prompt, I figured I best try! Sorry that this is what y'all get. Feel free to leave your thoughts, lemme know what you think.
> 
> For weheartscorose for being an amazing human, friend, cheerleader...and so much more! You're the best.

Prompt: "I've been driving for hours and ended up at your door."

Jughead Jones picked up and looked at the black screen of his too quiet phone for the tenth time in as many minutes. Gently sitting it back on the coffee table, he let out a heavy sigh, letting his head fall into his hands. He sat like that for a minute, heels of his hands pressing against his eyes, hoping against hope that he’d be able to relieve the pressure building inside his head.

It didn’t work. 

It had been seven hours, eight minutes and eleven seconds since they’d hung up. Her voice hung heavy in his ears even now. The catch in her throat when she pushed the words through her lips, as if she couldn’t believe she had to say them. The tremble of tears he could practically feel spilling down her cheeks, as she hiccupped through.  
With an audible groan and fistfuls of his own hair, he stood from the couch, no longer content to sit and wait for the shrill ring to pierce the air. He paced the small space, surely wearing tracks in the already threadbare carpeting.

He’d known, for the last week or so, that this was a possibility. That at the exact moment when everything was coming together, in ways Jughead had never even dared let himself dream, it would all crumble spectacularly at his feet.  
Pain shot down his neck and he swallowed thickly, forcing the muscles of his jaw to relax even if the rest of him couldn’t. His jaw unclenched as a familiar sting moved its way up his face, taking root in his eyes. 

He’d willed himself not to cry too many times in his life; he’d thought this night would be no different, but he fought against the instinct and let the tears fall. 

_“Hey, Betty, what’s going on?”_

_“Juggie…” her voice was hoarser than it had been when they spoke the day before. “I—I’m so scared.”_

_In all the years they’d known each other—been together—she’d never sounded so pitiful. His heart constricted at the thought. Until that very moment, he’d have never imagined those two thoughts would ever intersect in his mind. “What’s happening, Betts?”_

_He waited through her tears, and the half-garbled quasi-sentences until her breathing evened out and the words took shape. And weight._

_“It doesn’t look good, Jug,” is all she’d said before she promised to call him back and was hurried off by a cacophony of voices he didn’t recognize._

Sighing again, he picked his phone off the table. 

No new notifications, it mocked. It sat like a brick in his hand. The urge to throw the device against the wall rippled through him. With what barely could pass for a chuckle, he clutched it tighter in his hand instead and pulled it against his chest. 

He knew he was getting ahead of himself, that he had no reason to be in panic mode. But aside from a few dalliances in separation through their nearly ten-year tenure, they didn’t go this long without speaking. It had been a good ten years. They struggled and fought and almost—almost—gave up, but neither could let go. And since that fateful week their senior year of college, they’d plowed a steady path through adulthood. 

But that didn’t stop the thoughts from echoing through his skull. He was worried. Not about them; about her. But the thing about worry, no matter how righteously placed, was that it bred anxiety. It’s needle-like talons pierced his lungs, filling him with a chill he couldn’t escape. He felt it in his bones, the despair. Her voice had been riddled with it. Knowing he had to get in control of his faculties if Betty called…

_When_ , he reminded himself. _When she calls._ Betty would call. He pulled the chair out from the dining room table, its heavy legs scraping the pocked hardwood.  
Jughead looked around the room. It was sparse, old and not a little decrepit, but it was home. The walls were white but not bright. It was dull and worn, absorbing more of the light than reflecting it. It felt like him.

The grayscale between two values. 

Heaving a sigh, he sat, throwing his phone on the table before his head collapsed onto his crossed arms. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there before soft rapping at his door roused him. 

Jughead rose slowly, taking only a few cautious steps before the knocking started again. This time with more urgency.

He crossed the room in three large steps, throwing the door open without checking who may be on the other side.

She stood haloed by the porch light, her hair haphazardly pulled back, smudges of black under her impossibly red eyes. “Betts? What are you doing?”

“I’ve been driving for hours and wound up at your door,” her lips turned to the ghost of a smile before dropping again. 

“You know I don’t mean what are you doing here,” his voiced trailed as he followed the path to keys she held in her shaking hands.

“There’s so many keys on here,” she muttered lowly. “I couldn’t find the right one. Juggie, I can’t remember which key opens the front door of our house.” And there she broke, his arms reaching to catch her before she could collapse. He held her close while her tears soaked through the cotton of his shirt, pressing kisses in to her hair that seemed to glow under the artificial incandescence.

Betty shivered against him, the brisk night and fragile state taking its toll. Without thinking, he swept her legs from under her, and carried her through the door bridal style. Jughead kicked the door closed behind them before turning toward the living room. 

“You know,” her muffled voice came from where her face was nestled against his chest, “we skipped a pretty big step for that antiquated tradition, Mr. Jones.”  
He smiled for the first time that day. “All in good time, beautiful.”

Jughead went to set her on the couch but felt her head shake against him as the arms that encircled his neck gripped tighter. He sat down carefully, settling her into his lap as he collapsed against the cushions. 

When she started to cry again he rubbed her back, and tried to keep the hair from sticking to her eyes with clumsy hands. They seemed to shake more with every passing second she didn’t speak. 

“Baby, please tell me what’s going on,” he pleaded when she’d stopped crying the second time.  
She sniffled and sat up, turning so she could face him fully. “It’s Avery.” 

Polly’s daughter. He could feel his brows knit together. Betty reached up, the sleeve of his flannel shirt that she was wearing practically covered her whole hand, but her thumb stretched out to try and rub away the lines from his forehead. His face relaxed but his eyes never left hers. Jughead had seen so many emotions flicker through them in the course of the twenty minutes since she’d gotten back. He felt her fingers slide over his cheek and trace his jaw. He grabbed her hand before she could pull it away, pressed kisses to each of her fingertips and held their laced hands between them. 

“She’s sick, Juggie.”

Jughead pressed his lips together quickly before choosing his words. “Av’s been sick before, she got through it once. She’ll do it again. She is a Cooper after all.”

Betty tried to smile, but the tears were faster. Her eyes looked positively painful, yet still the most mesmerizing shade of green he knew he’d ever see.

“She’s also a Blossom. Which, unfortunately, means not but bad luck,” she paused and squeezed his hand tighter. “It’s back. Worse than before, and not likely to respond to treatment. Cheryl has insisted on the best care, on her dime, but Avery isn’t sure she wants to do it.”

That was the exact moment his heart shattered. The broken woman crying in his arms; her tough-as-nails niece who’d already endured way more than anyone should; the realization that he could do absolutely nothing to help any of it.

“What do you mean she doesn’t want to do it? She’s ten, Betty. Does anybody know what they want at ten?”

“She said to the doctor: ‘I don’t think that course of action suits me. I will fight with all I have, but I don’t think I can go through that again.’ Of course he looked at her like she had three heads, he looked at Polly and asked her: who talks like that?” She smirked up at him. “Avery laughed, and she may have mentioned her too-cool Uncle Jughead being a writer and teaching her how to use her words when she was sick the first time. She might physically be ten, Jug, but not in here,” she tapped his temple with her free hand and smiled. “Avery could have a couple of good months before she…before, but with the treatment her chance of survival increases, just not enough for her to condemn her last few months of life to waste away in a hospice, away from all the things that make life worth living.”

He could feel the tears threatening again and this time, he didn’t even try to stop them, letting them cascade down his face and catching on their still tightly entwined hand. “Jesus, Betty. How’s Polly handling that? And Alice? Oh fuck, how’s Caleb taking it?”

“No one is coping well. Except Avery. She’s not resigned, she seems at peace. I don’t know. Polly and Mom aren’t going to accept it. And most of me is totally okay with that, you know? She’s a baby; she has a chance! Make her fight! But then I look at her, and though I never, ever, ever want to let her go…I just want what’s best.”

He brushed his thumb under her eye gently, careful not to irritate the delicate skin more than tears and tissues have already done. "Of course you want what’s best; you’re Betty Cooper. No matter what happens—now, in the future, whenever—I will be right beside you. We’ll get through this, together. Always.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Jug. I’m sorry I didn’t call you earlier, but it was a lot to process and I knew I didn’t just need to hear your voice. I had to see you, feel your arms around me.” Without preamble, he leaned into her space and pressed his lips to hers. It wasn’t a particularly passionate kiss, but the kind of steady pressure meant to reassure and convey things that words always seem to fail. 

Betty pulled away abruptly, a yawn escaping her past her lips. “Let’s get you to bed. We can talk in the morning.” He kissed her quickly before securing her against him, and this time as he carried her through the house, he felt a semblance of peace.

“I can’t believe we closed on this house a week ago and this is the first night I get to sleep here,” Betty mumbled after she’d shucked her clothes and curled up under the covers with Jughead.

“The first night of many, baby,” he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. He felt, rather than heard, the contended sigh against his chest. “Every tomorrow is a new day, and we’ll take them all on together. No matter what they may hold.” 

Betty was quickly snoring softly, wrapped in the safe cocoon of his arms and their faux-down comforter. Even though she was here, now, in his arms, he couldn’t help the litany of self-destructive thoughts from earlier that came rushing back. But he could finally breathe through it as long as the air carried her scent. Yes, everything was collapsing, but it was around their feet, not just his. And they would have each other to pick up the pieces.


End file.
